#XVII. queue

[spockvarietyhour]

Foundation "Long Ago, Not Far Away"

[tiny-librarian]

In the early morning hours of October 16th, having been condemned to death by guillotine, Marie Antoinette was led back to her cell in the Conciergerie. She wrote the following letter to her sister in law, Madame Elisabeth, but it would never reach her.

Here is a translation of the letter, images of the original are above.

16th October, 4.30 A.M. It is to you, my sister, that I write for the last time. I have just been condemned, not to a shameful death, for such is only for criminals, but to go and rejoin your brother. Innocent like him, I hope to show the same firmness in my last moments.

I am calm, as one is when one’s conscience reproaches one with nothing. I feel profound sorrow in leaving my poor children: you know that I only lived for them and for you, my good and tender sister. You who out of love have sacrificed everything to be with us, in what a position do I leave you! I have learned from the proceedings at my trial that my daughter was separated from you. Alas! poor child; I do not venture to write to her; she would not receive my letter. I do not even know whether this will reach you. Do you receive my blessing for both of them. I hope that one day when they are older they may be able to rejoin you, and to enjoy to the full your tender care. Let them both think of the lesson which I have never ceased to impress upon them, that the principles and the exact performance of their duties are the chief foundation of life; and then mutual affection and confidence in one another will constitute its happiness. Let my daughter feel that at her age she ought always to aid her brother by the advice which her greater experience and her affection may inspire her to give him. And let my son in his turn render to his sister all the care and all the services which affection can inspire. Let them, in short, both feel that, in whatever positions they may be placed, they will never be truly happy but through their union. Let them follow our example. In our own misfortunes how much comfort has our affection for one another afforded us! And, in times of happiness, we have enjoyed that doubly from being able to share it with a friend; and where can one find friends more tender and more united than in one’s own family? Let my son never forget the last words of his father, which I repeat emphatically; let him never seek to avenge our deaths. I have to speak to you of one thing which is very painful to my heart, I know how much pain the child must have caused you. Forgive him, my dear sister; think of his age, and how easy it is to make a child say whatever one wishes, especially when he does not understand it. It will come to pass one day, I hope, that he will better feel the value of your kindness and of your tender affection for both of them. It remains to confide to you my last thoughts. I should have wished to write them at the beginning of my trial; but, besides that they did not leave me any means of writing, events have passed so rapidly that I really have not had time. I die in the Catholic Apostolic and Roman religion, that of my fathers, that in which I was brought up, and which I have always professed. Having no spiritual consolation to look for, not even knowing whether there are still in this place any priests of that religion (and indeed the place where I am would expose them to too much danger if they were to enter it but once), I sincerely implore pardon of God for all the faults which I may have committed during my life. I trust that, in His goodness, He will mercifully accept my last prayers, as well as those which I have for a long time addressed to Him, to receive my soul into His mercy. I beg pardon of all whom I know, and especially of you, my sister, for all the vexations which, without intending it, I may have caused you. I pardon all my enemies the evils that they have done me. I bid farewell to my aunts and to all my brothers and sisters. I had friends. The idea of being forever separated from them and from all their troubles is one of the greatest sorrows that I suffer in dying. Let them at least know that to my latest moment I thought of them. Farewell, my good and tender sister. May this letter reach you. Think always of me; I embrace you with all my heart, as I do my poor dear children. My God, how heart-rending it is to leave them forever! Farewell! farewell! I must now occupy myself with my spiritual duties, as I am not free in my actions. Perhaps they will bring me a priest; but I here protest that I will not say a word to him, but that I will treat him as a total stranger.

[hatigave-a]

Just a small collection of headcanons for Noël regarding his f1 career — mostly just little tidbits of information regarding him.

i. Noël drives under the number 15. He has no particular connection to this number, he just thought it was rad. Besides, it was very available without another driver being interested in it. He simply didn’t want to make a fuzz about something like a number.

ii. his nickname on track is Rabbit. He is fast, yes, but most importantly he has mastered the art of swift, surprise overtakes. Like a rabbit, he swerves from one side to the other while breathing down someone’s neck ( this can, at times, get him in trouble seeing as it isn’t quite considered safe at all times — but he simply keeps doing it anyway. )

iii. the press loves him — he is charming in front of the camera and always has well-rounded, in-depth, answers whenever he is asked a question. Behind the scenes, however, he can be quite rude to members of the team and crew. Especially during the race ( swearing over the radio ? swearing over the radio. ) but he always makes sure to apologize to them afterwards. Noël gets too wrapped up in the high of racing and the rush of adrenaline.

iv. his helmets are always extremely colourful and if it was up to him, he would have a new design every single race. At a later point in his life ( in his main verse ) he absolutely allows his kids to paint on them so he can wear their designs on track.

[nghtmarish]

@roseguided ; odelia kramer / 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋 ; 𝐀𝐂𝐂𝐄𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆.

    𝐬𝐡𝐞  𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧'𝐭  𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭  𝐭𝐨  𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤  𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭  𝐦𝐞𝐱𝐢𝐜𝐨.   she  understood  why  john  had  wanted  to  test  those  invovled,  that  didn't  mean  she  had  been  happy  with  the  outcome.   cecilia  may  have  won  her  test,  but  that  bitch  out  of  them  all    𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝    to  die.   but  that's  how  john's  games  worked  and  she  couldn't  help  but  question,  why?   why  out  of  everyone  did  that  scheming,  lying,  manipulative  woman  get  to  walk  through?   amanda  didn't  get  it  and  she  didn't  know  how  to  bring  this  up  to  anyone.   she  still  wanted  to  show  john  that  she  was  someone  he  could    𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐭   to  continue  his  work.   regardless  of  her  own  thoughts,  she  would  continue  to  do  as  asked  of  her  and  she  would  keep  her  own  thoughts  to  herself.   hand  runs  through  dark  hair,  looking  up  at  the  sound  of  footsteps  approaching  and  a  small  smiles  pulls  at  her  lips,   "   hello  odelia.   it's  good  to  see  you,    "   amanda  admits,  a  good  distraction  from  the  way  her  mind  was  running,  another  way  to  ignore  the  twist  of  guilt  in  her  stomach,   "   john  will  be  glad  to  see  you,    "

[rogue-durin-16]

HEAD-TO-HEAD (part XVII/?)

Summary: Joe thought she was pretty. Had he just said that, things might have been different for them. Maybe they wouldn't have gone head-to-head at each other for three years like it was a contest.

Pairing: Joseph Liebgott x Reader

Genre: angst splattered with fluff/rivals to lovers

Tags:

Head-to-head: @derersketnoget @ladystardustfromarss @lanadelray1989 @chanshugsaretherapy @hoddystark @sxalbatf @jetjuliette @luvrottt @fromjupitertocentauri @ecompstolemysoul @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @bitter-post-millennial

Band Of Brothers: @fernando-jpg @chubbypotatoepie @tvserie-s-world @clumsy-wonderland @lordndsaviorwinters @lanadelray1989 @chanshugsaretherapy @hoddystark

Permanent taglist: @randomparanoid @karlthecat15722 @thebutchersdaughtersblog @amourtentiaa @comfort-reads

Warnings: language, violence, blood

A/N: god knows I wasn't gonna post this shit tomorrow if I had let it sit in my drafts for another day, so here comes yet another chapter written at an unholy hour. Enjoy<3

Head-to-head masterlist

Band of Brothers masterlist

Rogue-durin-16 masterlist

'I don't owe you an answer.'

'People fuck, Joe.'

'Calm down.'

Her words bounced inside my head like fucking ricochet. Up, down, side to side, hitting every spot of my skull, driving me insane with her faux indifference coated by the thinnest layer of sympathy.

What was even worse is that she wasn't wrong, was she? People do fuck, and she did not owe me answers. But after an entire day of looping those three sentences over and over and over until they lost their meaning, who was wrong or right mattered little.

The snow cushioned my bootsteps as I stalked across the Bois Jacques, cold biting through every layer like it wanted to take me out too. Ahead, the boys sat in a loose circle around what passed for lunch lately; cold beans, stale bread and shit jokes.

Chuck had his profile to me. That stupid lazy laugh of his carrying in the air like everything was fine. His face pivoted to my frame when he caught the determined movement in the corner of his eyes. My expression must have been too unmoved for him to read the room correctly.

"I'm not givin' you my beans, Lieb." He started, soft amusement stringing his tone. "You go make that queue like all—"

The punch landed square against his jaw—a clean right hook. No hesitation, no warning. Just frostbitten knuckles to bone and the thump of Chuck hitting the ground beside the lodge he had taken as seat.

"Jesus Christ!" More, who was the closest to Chuck, jolted up.

"What the hell, Joe?" Popeye questioned, kneeling down to pull up Chuck.

"What a fuckin' friend you are." I hissed, zeroed in on the blonde man, still too stunned to understand what had just happened. He blinked the sharp pain away, his gloved hand shooting up to his bleeding nose. Confusion danced in his eyes, as if he didn't know what the fuck I was talking about.

That just made it worse.

Alley must have read it in the way my foot shifted forward as if I was planning to lunge at our friend again, because he was the first to grab me, pulling back hard by the arm. "Hey—hey, knock it off—"

"Let go." I growled, shoving him off.

"What's going on here?" Lieutenant Compton's voice cut in like a whipcrack as he approached, eyeing the blood on Chuck's face, then looking at me. "What's this about?"

My laugh scraped my throat on its way out, a pointer finger motioning at my friend. "Oh, he knows what this is about."

Chuck got up with Popeye's help, droplets of blood dripping past his lips and down to the snow. They bloomed red against the white like a goddamn warning flag.

His hand cradled his jaw, fingers checking for something broken with a wince. "Are you nuts?!"

"I don't know," I snapped, voice cracking with rage. "Am I?"

The men around us shared worried glances, some looking away, some staring too intently like I was a pinless grenade about to go off.

"Who told you?" He asked without shame or or any intention to pretend cluelessness, which only made the blow hit harder.

"Who the fuck else is gonna know, Grant?"

Silence. Heavy silence and a sorry glance from Chuck was what I needed to get the memo. The sarcasm hadn't landed because I had asked the wrong question. No one met my eyes when I vehemently searched for confirmation among the group of soldiers.

I was the last to find out.

Something in me buckled under the weight of it. The air turned heavier, bitter in my chest, burning down the little restraint I had when it came to fully take it out on Chuck.

"She told you." It wasn't a question, and it didn't need an answer. He sighed, wiping the blood off with his sleeve. "The hell'd she tell you for?"

I didn't even consider responding, choosing to throw another inquiry at him instead "You really weren't gonna tell me you fucked the—" I stopped myself, teeth grinding. "Her?"

"Somebody better explain to my what's going on." Buck command was clearly directed at me. I consciously chose to ignore it.

"You knew." I accused the bloodied man, guilt plastered all over his face in the same pathetic way heartbreak was plastered over mine. "You knew and you still fucked me over."

"I was gonna talk to you—"

"You're so full of shit."

"Liebgott." The officer's attempt to get my attention were useless. "You're out of line."

"I don't know what the fuck she told you," Chuck began, now obviously pissed. "but it was her idea."

"And you just—what? Rolled with it?!"

"So what if I did?!" Chuck yelled, losing whatever patience he thought he owed me. "Get your head outta your ass, Joe! She's a grown woman," his arm motioned at what seemed a general direction. Until I turned and saw her.

She stood right outside the scattered circle, trailing after Muck and Penkala with her recently poured portion of lunch, eyes slightly widened as if she was keeping herself on check in order not to give away too much.

"—and you're a big boy too, okay?" Chuck continued, taking a half step in my direction. He shouldn't have. "If you're so pissed maybe you should—"

An ugly crack echoed in the woods when my fist connected with Chuck's jaw again.

"LIEBGOTT!"

"HOLY SHIT!"

"GRAB HIM FOR FUCK'S SAKE!"

Everyone's panicked words meshed together, two pairs of hands grabbing me while my friends crowded around Chuck. The world blurred a little.

I didn't dare to look at her again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The iced ground crunched like broken glass beneath our boots—sharp and loud in the quiet of the night. We weren’t that far from the treeline, but with the moon half-choked behind clouds, it felt like we were walking through the ribs of something long dead.

They'd sent us out to patrol the edge of Easy's perimeter. Said it was routine. Said it was quiet. Didn't mention how convenient it was, how it did the trick to keep us both out of everyone else's hair.

We knew what they were doing—keep us busy, keep us separate from the rest of the company, keep us from getting someone killed. But putting us together? That wasn't exactly brilliant.

In their defense, Y/n had been a last minute addition to Winters' charity collection of broken minds. I wasn't told exactly why she was here, and I didn't ask. Sink's runner had spread the word that she had lost it after seeing Toye and Guarnere torn up during a bad barrage. Maybe it was true, or maybe not, but after all she had been put through —all I had put her through—, a bad crashout was long overdue.

I just wished it would have happened a couple of days earlier, when every edge between us had been smoothed by the cold and the exhaustion, and not when we could barely look at each other.

Y/n walked three paces ahead, but I could see the tension in her shoulders nonetheless; the way her rifle was clenched too tight in her hands, the way she hadn't looked me in the eye once since they handed us this bullshit detail.

We moved through the woods, past the shell holes and splintered roots, Foy still visible in the distance. Her steps quickened. Mine decelerated out of spite.

"Slow down, will ya?" I muttered.

She didn't turn around. "Try to keep up."

The nerve.

"You always gotta run your goddamn mouth?"

That stopped her.

She turned slow, face shadowed by her helmet, eyes meaner than the forest we were trapped in. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me." I took her halt as an opportunity to catch up until I was right beside her. "All night with that tone, like I'm the fucking problem here."

She took a half-step forward, close enough that her breath hit my collar when she spat out, "You are the fucking problem."

I couldn't help but scoff, looking past her to avoid aggravating myself even more. "You fuck Grant, out of everyone, and I'm the problem?"

"Who I fuck or don't fuck is none of your business." There was a twisted condescendance in her tone, tainted with smugness, as if she had me figured out and was done with it.

"It's none of my business?" I repeated, my voice jumping an octave out of indignation as I leaned forward just enough to be eye to eye with her. "You made it personal."

"I made it personal? Me?" She breathed out a humorless laugh, her index finger pointing at her chest.

"You went for my friend."

The sour smile twisting up the corner of her mouth vanished, his arm falling limply at her side. I could see the cogs in her head turning, crafting something that would hurt me. I spotted the exact instant in which she found it, and it was bad enough for her to hesitate.

She still said it.

"She looked like me."

With gritted teeth, my boots slid a little on the frost when I closed the space even more a bit too fast. "You gotta learn to shut up."

Her hand snapped out fast, gripping the collar of my jacket. "Do not get in my face, Liebgott." The side of her fist pressed against my chest, forcing a short distance between us; a false sense of safety. "I will fuck you up.”

I didn’t flinch. I didn’t move. The question slipped out with bottled up resentment before I could think twice about it.

"More?" My lips twitched; not quite a smile. Not quite anything aside from a sign of me finding the moment fucking comical. "Maybe I should be the one fuckin' you up."

That hit something. Her hand clenched tighter in my coat, dragging me a little closer. We both swayed slightly at the sudden movement, boots slipping just an inch in the frozen mud.

"What?" she whispered. "You gonna try and break my jaw too?"

I stared at her, taking in the way her words landed like a punch to the ribs. "You think I'd hit you?"

She didn't blink. "Maybe."

"You don't fucking know me, then." I growled, tasting the way pain and anger mixed together in my tongue.

Her eyes narrowed like she was set on making me break beyond repair. "I know enough."

I grabbed the side of her jacket, mirroring her grip to yank her half an inch to me until we were toe-to-toe, our breaths fogging together in the frozen air.

"Let go of my damn uniform, Y/l/n."

"Fuck. You." she spat, venom coating the short sentence. She opened and closed her mouth a couple of times, inhaling sharply. Whatever she was about to say refused to reach my ears, so she swallowed and settled for something else. "Quit trying to mess me up."

"You first, sweetheart."

Our noses bumped when she angled her head with defiance and, for a second, what I felt wasn't rage. It wasn't betrayal. It wasn't the war or Chuck or the blood still stuck under my nails. It was just heat. Heat in the freezing dark and the fire burning her down behind glassy eyes.

I didn't know if I wanted to kiss her breathless or scream in her face until the knots twisting inside my throat loosened up. Maybe both.

I did neither.

[nghtmarish]

    𝐢𝐭  𝐰𝐚𝐬  𝐚𝐥𝐥  𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫  𝐚𝐧𝐝  𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞  𝐰𝐚𝐬  𝐧𝐨  𝐰𝐚𝐲  𝐨𝐮𝐭,   amanda  couldn't  think,  completely  rattled  by  the  fact  that  john  had  been  testing  her  again  and  it  didn't  seem  to  matter,  that  everything  she  had  done  was  all  for    𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠.   it  seemed  like  hoffman  was  winning  and  that  infruiated  her  more  than  anything.   hands  raise  in  an  almost  sarcastic  looking  surrender,  eyes  focused  on  the  detective  in  front  of  her  and  instead  of  the  expected  ' you're  under  arrest '  comment,  he  was  asking  about  mark  hoffman.   amanda  has  to  hold  back  the  smile,  clearly  hoffman  wasn't  as  good  at  blending  in  and  keeping  any  suspicion  off  of  him,   "   depends  what  the  time  is.   i've  lost  track  of  it,    "   amanda  admits,  dropping  her  arms  and  looking  around  the  workshop.   a  part  of  her  knew  she  should  be    𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠   hoffman,  but  she  would  do  anything  to  protect  herself  and  john's  legacy  first.   hoffman  and  her  were  never  going  to  work  together,  he  wouldn't  do  anyting  to  protect  her  and  she  wasn't  blind  or  stupid,  she  knew  he  would  do  anything  to  throw  her  out,   "   but  i'm  probably  the  only  person  who  can  help  you  get  him   .   .   .   which  you  won't  be  able  to  do  if  you  shoot  me  or  try  to  get  out  of  this  building  alone,    "

🖊️ ───── as he found himself in the same space as amanda he honestly wasn't sure what he was suppose to do. he could kill her, but what would that accomplish, he could take her in, but would it be that simple. right now they stood in a position where he had the power but that could change, he didn't know if there were traps in this building, might have cornered on pure dumb luck. "where's hoffman?" he questioned quickly wondering if they were even alone in all this chaos as he kept his gun raised and his body in a firm stance.

@nghtmarish ♥ for a starter from peter strahm for amanda young

[the-last-patch]

[Tuning In]

[Flipping to B-Side]

[Success]

[Now Playing - “Opossum”]

Do you guys think it’s safe to grill food using your mech’s reactor? I just found out that there are fish on U-XVII…somehow. Anyways if you think there’s danger in doing it please let me know, I definitely wouldn’t do something so reckless without considering the consequences.

<There is the sound of a bite followed by chewing>

Definitely not.

[End Track]

[Next Up - “Open Queue”]

[ch4rryc0smos]

YOUR MOUTH IS VICIOUS AND YOU'RE PROUD OF THE SOUND YOU MAKE EVERY SECOND I'M AWAKE / EVERY SECOND I'M AROUND ! — NOW IT'S OVER | DOGPARK.

── . ✶ ❝ B L A I R E F L O R E N C E C A L L A H A N . ❞

☼ — xvii | cancer | infj | british-australian 🪐

appearance ; slightly tanned skin on exposed parts with freckles over shoulders and face, mole under the right corner of her bottom lip, forest green eyes, 5'10 [177 cm], athletic [or sleeper] build with thinner legs, barely noticeable scars over arms, thighs and back, scars over most of her body, dimples when she smiles hard. dimples on her lower back when she stretches. ombre [brown-blonde] hair, prefers her hair short [in a jellyfish cut], but isn't allowed.

beliefs ; materialistic wealth doesn't define anything but your worth in the eyes of capitalism. humans are made to express individuality, not succumb to capitalistic beliefs and submit to slave-like treatment.

⋆ ─ living isn't a linear experience, take it with grace, give it time, and maybe it'll learn to love you too. so, live. ⋆ ─ good and bad don't truly exist, the world is not black and white, it's grey, it's a canvas, and you're the artist.

personality ; gentle, intuitive, charismatic, vigilant, observant, meticulous, boisterous, collected, diligent, loving, realist, nurturing.

positive traits ; compassionate, selfless, empathetic, kind, accountable, notices other's emotions & fluctuations in behaviour[s].

negative traits ; anxious, bottles up her emotions, skeptic [has trust issues], struggles with boundaries, overworks, cares too hard, thinks she has to always be the one to rely on, can't accept her negative emotions, has unhealthy coping mechanisms.

quirks ; fidgets all the time | stutters when nervous | bounces from heel to heel when waiting in queues | gets louder and faster when talking about passions | has an oral fixation | tilts her head when she's focusing | taps her foot unconsciously when waiting for people.

likes ; nature, psychology, sociology, anthropology, freedom of speech, anarchy, deep conversations, late-night car rides, coffee, biology [many branches of it], museums, gardens, aquariums, deers, red pandas, art of living, knowledge, economics, connor murphy & evan hansen.

dislikes ; arthropods, heights, loud noises, narrow-mindedness, extreme temperatures, snobby people, arrogance, dishonesty, being under pressure, confrontation, disorganised places, normalising shitty behaviour and attributing it to mental illness.

deepest secrets ; wants to be seen for her true self, wishes her worth wasn't determined by productivity, wishes her parents would've seen her as more than a trophy daughter.

⋆ ─ she just wants actual connections, the one thing she somehow barely has. ⋆ ─ she doesn't want expectations to be placed on her, she doesn't want to be a prodigy, she wants peace, and calm, and people who actually care.

── . ✶ ❝ B A C K S T O R Y . ❞

ONE of australia's greatest kids, a prodigy made to wow the southern hemisphere, when blaire callahan moves to us, a whole world and hemisphere away, she doesn't know what to do, where to start. living in an esteemed society, high art culture surrounds her everywhere she goes. she's never truly known what friendship is because status is what determines who she is, what she is, even.

she hates how stuffy her life feels, how lonely she always feels, and how she lets her worth be decided on whether she performs well or not, what is this, a circus? she feels like the clown, that's for sure.

primary and middle school pass by as breezes, decent enough as long as she doesn't engage with anyone, ignores the one kid that goes to a nearby school and apparently threw a printer at his teacher in second grade. little blaire didn't know that mentioning that would just be the start of her meeting the murphy family.

one faithful day, she makes the mistake of mentioning this unknown kid to her ever nosy mother, and she somehow finds out it's connor murphy. some guy she'll have to meet now because his family is apparently rich! and oh, they're nice too, but it doesn't matter. and did she mention connor has a sister?

when she finally meets the family, the first time, it's awkward, zoe, connor's sister is a lively kid, she clings onto blaire the second they meet, and connor is, to say the least, out of it. he doesn't want to be there.

blaire resonates with it. and that's how they bond. the two run from the snobby dinner party, they sit outside, on the porch. they're awkward kids, don't speak, but they do know that they understand each other better than the adults ever could.

and that's how it started, few visits occasionally, until blaire moves to connor's school. it's the most public school-esque school she's ever done so much as seen. but connor is okay with it, well, as okay as he can be while hating it viscerally.

he gets bullied, blaire finds out. she hates it, she doesn't care who these people are, she doesn't like them. she spends a while defending connor, and then she meets evan. an anxious wreck, someone who doesn't want to be noticed, but of course she notices him.

so does connor, well, he notices before she does. but she's quick to follow. connor isn't big on befriending him, but she is. she wants him to feel seen, because she never has, not until him. she gives evan the best version of herself, and they form a friend group, a little trio, just them. and no one can hurt them, or can they?

── . ✶ ❝ C U R R E N T . ❞

LAST year of high school, on the path to be valedictorian, or whatever it is in american's high school, blaire callahan is looking to do what she was meant to do when she was younger, back at australia. she's friends with alana beck, a prodigy, but no one knows what these two go through. only connor and evan know blaire better than she seems to know herself.

but connor has been falling apart recently, and even if he acts "rad" and says it's just the usual, she knows. she always will, and evan does too. he's much more observant than he lets off. and blaire likes it. these two are scared for connor, they're worried, but blaire feels empathy. she's been here before, and it hurts.

it hurts bad to see him like this. it hurts so bad to see him like this, and have zoe be so angry. she's always been friends with zoe, and she doesn't like what connor has done to her, but now she's torn. and evan has to help her steer this ship away from this path, the one that'll lead them to their demise.

she's torn between two people, no, three, and three worlds that she'll have to navigate. and her parents too, and it's just so draining, so draining. she has to learn how to live, with herself, and with them, and with everything.

she hates high school, she says.

but she doesn't, she just hates how everyone she seems to care about is struggling, but she's ambitious, she will do anything to keep them afloat. and she will, no matter what, she doesn't care what happens to her, she's going to do it, for herself, for, connor, for evan.

she's been close with cynthia and heidi, connor and evan's mothers (respectively), but she doesn't know if she should tell them, maybe not yet, she thinks. the time will come.

and the universe will let her know, she believes in it. she believes in time, or does she? she hopes she does.

it doesn't matter though, she's going to figure out. this is blaire callahan the world is talking about. she's going to rock it.

── . ✶ appears in a little closer [complete], to be seen is to be loved [complete].

★ ; decided to make this post before actually putting the fic up (i haven't even finished the fic, i'm sick). i fell ill so i'm much slower, but it's okay, meet blaire everyone! one of the girls <3 i've got some works with her in it in the plans, so!

ch4rryc0smos © 2024

[tavolgisvist]

Roger Eagle had already earned himself a niche in musical legend through his time as a DJ at the Twisted Wheel Club in Manchester. He’d worked there as long ago as 1963, using his boundless knowledge and enthusiasm to bring rhythm and blues to a new audience. In the process, he effectively laid the foundations for Northern Soul. Like any self-consciously underground scene, the Twisted Wheel crowd defined themselves in opposition to the pop charts - which is how Eagle came to mark 1963 with a ritual onstage burning of the Beatles’ second LP. Equally symbolic was Roger’s gesture the night the Rolling Stones stopped by: they heard him play the original US versions (in precisely the same order) of each track on their debut LP. Eagle was really a missionary at heart, fired by violent passions for the music he believed in. Tall enough ‘to wind the Liver Clock’ as Liverpudlians say, he’d actually been born in Oxford, was a distant relative of George Bernard Shaw, and drifted North to the Twisted Wheel, where he found his real vocation in life. He took to managing bands and moved across to Merseyside, where he began promoting shows at the old Liverpool Stadium. This backstreet venue had formerly been a boxing arena, where dockers roared nightly (‘Hit ’im Joe, ’e’s not a holy picture!’), and seediness still hovered over it. I used to queue for Eagle’s gigs, and I’d watch Allan Williams, still on the scene, gamely working the line with a fistful of flyers and a mouthful of hyperbole.

(Liverpool - Wondrous Place by Paul Du Noyer, 2002)

Part (I), (II), (III), (IV), (V), (VI), (VII), (VIII), (IX), (X), (XI), (XII), (XIII), (XIV), (XV), (XVI), (XVII), (XVIII), (XIX), (XX), (XXI), (XXII)

[aa-koval-kury]

596) Thurgau Whitetail (Thurgovien à Queue Blanche; Thurgauer Weißschwanz; Turgoviese a Coda Bianca; Тургаусский Белохвостый; CH/428) - odmiana pochodząca z regionu Turgowia (Szwajcaria), ale nie znaleziono żadnych informacji od czasu jej powstania, znane są jedynie wzmianki o tej odmianie sprzed wieków (prawdopodobnie od XVII wieku). Odmiany klasyfikowane pod tym typem kolorowych gołębi są już dość popularne w swoim kraju ojczystym, również w Niemczech, ale nie rozprzestrzeniły się jeszcze na wiele krajów w Europie. Odmiana ta ma dobrą zdolność do lotu, ponadto wygląd jest również dość wyjątkowy.

[spockvarietyhour]

Foundation "Long Ago, Not Far Away"

[tiny-librarian]

I commend to God my wife and my children, my sister, my aunts, my brothers, and all those who are attached to me by ties of blood, or by any other manner whatsoever. I pray God especially to cast the eyes of his mercy on my wife, my children, and my sister, who have suffered so long with me; to support them by his grace if they lose me, and for as long as they remain in this perishable world.

[shesnotmyship]

TAG PEOPLE YOU’D LIKE TO GET TO KNOW BETTER. nicknames: Jess(i) gender: Female astrological sign: Virgo height: 167cm (whatever that is in the real world) sexuality: bisexual single/taken?: taken by mark harmon  hogwarts house: Slytherin favourite animal: CHEETAHS Number of blankets: a heavy doona then whatever’s on top, usually one. (Two if I’m at home-home) dream trip: Florence.  when i created this blog: February 2018? I think? why i created this blog: Because I made El, and thought she was to precious to stay in an unpublished fanfiction..

tagged by. @preconceptionschallenged (forever ago, again) tagging.  (anyone I’ve been gone for so long I don’t remember who still writes around here)

[barzzal]

in color: tyson jost, playoff series vs. vgk AVALANCHE 360 EP 22: BEHIND THE SCENES

[the-last-patch]

[Tuning In]

[Flipping to A-Side]

[Success]

[Now Playing - “Opossum”]

<Barking can be heard in the background>

So, I was just talking with “PuppyDog” about favorite candy and well, it seems we’ve gotten into a bit of a debate. You see, my favorite candy are the “flavor pills” that the locals on U-XVII make. They’re completely artificial and probably form poor habits but they come in wonderful flavors like “Kiwi-Banana”. I don’t know what a Kiwi is but I had an imitation banana once and it was pretty good! Anyways yeah, my coworker here’s favorite candy is apparently IPS-N brand “LancerSnacks” which you probably know already but in case you’re unfamiliar, they’re chocolate biscuits. My first concern was that he’s allergic to chocolate and so I assumed he was just messing with me, but then he busted out his “emergency treat” as he called it and ate it right in front of me. He seems fine but I’m skeptical. The second problem is that I don’t think chocolate is a candy, since there’s so many different kinds! “PuppyDog” disagrees and has been barking at me since. What do you all think? Is chocolate a candy?

<The barking suddenly stops and changed into a wet gagging>

Oh my god are you choking? I KNEW you were allergic.

<Rapid footsteps crunching on snow can be heard while the gagging gets louder. There are the sounds of a struggle before a heavy impact and finally a normal cough.>

<Between ragged breaths a second voice speaks up>

I’m not allergic to chocolate dimwit, I just choked on my tongue while insulting you!

…you were barking at me.

Insulting!

Yeah yeah, anyways please do share your opinions out there…I’m quite curious!

P.XV “Opossum”-

-And P.VII “PuppyDog”

-Out.

[End Track]

[Next Up - “Open Queue”]

[tiny-librarian]

 I pray God particularly to cast eyes of compassion upon my wife, my children, and my sister, who suffered with me for so long a time, to sustain them with His mercy if they shall lose me, and as long as they remain in his mortal world.